


No More Yielding But a Dream

by Chronic_Gay_Panic



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Hurt Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, M/M, Rewrite, Soulmates, Trans Character, Trans Male Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24077989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chronic_Gay_Panic/pseuds/Chronic_Gay_Panic
Summary: In a world where you see your soulmate in your dreams the moment you turn sixteen, who is Virgil if he doesn't have a soulmate? The far more terrifying question haunting his mind:Who is he if he does?
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Other(s), Anxiety | Virgil/Creativity | Roman/Logic | Logan/Morality | Patton
Comments: 17
Kudos: 89





	1. 'Scape The Serpent's Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> ssssooooo... this is a rewrite of Wear My Pajamas and Walk in My Dreams. I really wanted to continue the work but at that point thanks to poor writing and planning skills the plot had gotten so convoluted, so i decided to start over. a list of things ive done:  
> reworked a bunch of minor plot points  
> reworked a few MAJOR plot points  
> s̶t̶o̶l̶e̶ b̶o̶r̶r̶o̶w̶e̶d̶ was inspired by childoflightning's dreadlocked Patton (if you havent read that au yet, go do so now its AMAZING)  
> added in some more background to the characters
> 
> id like to say its a completely different story, but at its base its really the same concept, just executed in a much more effective manner.

Virgil is eleven years old when he walks in on his father packing a suitcase. Or possibly Virginia is eleven years old when she walks in on her father packing a suitcase. Virgil doesn't completely remember which came first: the coming out or the leaving, but he's pretty certain that the latter had something to do with the former.

It doesn't really matter; all that matters is that the suitcase is yellow, and Virgil knows that his mother hates the colour yellow, and for some reason, it's that detail that sticks with him while he's lying awake at three in the morning.

Not the sound of a car engine starting late in the night, not the look of pity and regret and the stubborn set of his father's jaw, not the way his mother had refused to speak for a month afterward. It was the yellow suitcase. The baggage his father had not been able to handle; the baggage, he knew, that included him. 

His backpack is yellow, a hand-me-down from his older sister, from before the suitcase. His mother had made a face when she picked it out for college, and at the time he had thought it was amusing how his sister seemed to go out of her way to push people's buttons. It felt less amusing now. He thinks it's fitting: a visual confirmation of everything he already knows. That his father may have been the one to leave, but he's the one to carry around that burden.

He thinks it's before the suitcase that his mother began to get sick, spending more time in her room with the lights dimmed, frequently visiting the hospital and coming back pale and drawn. He remembers the doctors having said that more time soul bonding would help, and even at the time it had seemed like a cop-out, because no matter how much time they spent together, she had only seemed to get worse.

His father had said she wasn't trying hard enough, and Virgil doesn't think he'll ever forget the way she sounded as she sobbed. It's the first time he had ever seen her cry.

Ellie came home shortly after the tears, but before the suitcase, college foregone in her need to protect. She brings home a stuffed rabbit with a bow tie around his neck, and Virgil is probably getting a bit too old for stuffed animals, but he's still over the moon about it. It's the last thing he remembers being happy about for a long while afterward.

When he walks in on the yellow suitcase, his father's smile feels like a punch in the gut, but he doesn't show it as his father pulls him into a tight embrace.

"I love you. I promise," he says with tears in his eyes. It's the last thing he ever says to him.

Virgil's still not sure if it was the truth.

The first thing his mother says after a month of silence is said to him while she holds tight to his arm, almost hard enough to bruise, and he'd have taken offence to it were she still lucid enough to understand what she was doing. He wants to pull away, but there's such a raw grief in her face that he knows he has to listen.

"When you find your soulmate," she tells him, "run in the other direction. Stay as far away as you can." He knows it's the pain talking, but he also knows he doesn't need her warning to do exactly that. Not after seeing the hurt that comes along with a soulmate; the hurt his heart wasn't prepared to handle.

Ellie steps in before he can respond, gently prying her hand from his arm and leading her back to her bedroom, two sets of footsteps receding on the hard wood floor. For a moment, Virgil believes he can hear a third, but it's gone as soon as it was there, even if he swears it felt as real as his father's footsteps on that fateful day.

He isn't sure how long he stands there in the middle of the living room, eyes trained on the window to the backyard, watching the overgrown grass sway in the wind. He does know that it has somehow gotten dark when Ellie presses a warm mug of tea into his hands, the scent of jasmine swirling up from it in a warm steam that hits his face in a pleasant distraction.

He looks up to her smiling face, and back down to the mug held in her own hands; one of his mother's favourites, a personalized mug with a picture of the family on Ellie's first day of college. He knows that it had been birthday gift from both of them last year, but it feels like a relic from some forgotten memory that passed lifetimes ago.

He looks at the mug in his hands, and makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. One of his father's favourites. Yellow.

He resists the urge to puke.

"Sit down," she tells him, voice gentle as though he might break.

He sets the tea on the coffee table and curls himself into the couch, stiff muscles protesting at the sudden change in position. She sits next to him, looking out the window, and Virgil returns his attention to it as well, noting the stars that have begun to come out.

"Soulmates... aren't all like that, V."

He looks over at her, but she still stares out the window, almost wistful. He wonders if she's glad she doesn't have a soulmate right now, or if she secretly wishes for this kind of grief. His eyes drift back to the stars.

"But some are."

There's a long silence, in which Virgil almost thinks the conversation is over, but then she sighs.

"Yeah," she agrees, "some are."


	2. Give Me Your Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really dont want to set the precedent of posting everyday but i think by now we all know how terrible i am at letting things sit unpublished for any length of time. im blaming my anxiety so i dont have to take accountability (/s)
> 
> warning for this chapter: there is a minor trauma response

Roman has been looking forward to his sixteenth birthday from the moment he was old enough to know what soulmates were. He blames his moms for it, for instilling in him such a sense of romanticism about soulmates by being as in love as two people could possibly be. For his entire life, Roman has been looking forward to meeting the man he would look at the way his mothers looked at each other.

But now that the day is finally here, he's little more than a ball of nerves, questions bouncing around in his head too fast for him to catch any of them. What if he wasn't good enough? What if his soulmate didn't love him?

It was stupid, he knew, because soulmates were made for you; were the other half of the star your soul was fashioned from, but he couldn't help the bitter taste all of the doubts left in his mouth.

But he was determined not to let them show, not after all of the work his moms had put into his party. A blue and purple three-tiered cake sat on the dining room table, surrounded by colourfully wrapped boxes. Balloons were scattered about the living and dining rooms, but Roman really couldn't see how none had popped with how many people were crowded into his house.

It seemed like his entire extended family was gathered, with some spilling out into the backyard, red solo cups filled with punch dotting the crowd. He caught sight of his abuelita and nearly ran to her side, doing his best to dodge the various relatives.

He got to her winded, but grinning wildly. She turned, amused, and scoffed a bit before her smile turned gentler, more sincere. "Hola, mijo. ¿Estas emocianado?"

Roman nearly laughed at that; who wouldn't be excited? But he felt all jittery, and his heart was hammering in his throat, so while he knew he was excited (he had to be; he had been excited for this day for his entire life), there was also something else there. Not that he was about to tell his abuelita that.

"Yeah, I can't wait," he confirmed with a grin, and she ruffled his hair affectionately as if he were still a kid.

"Vete a jugar con los otros niños," she said, gesturing to where some of the younger kids had gathered to play a game that loosely resembled kickball. Roman stifled another laugh and shook his head.

"How old do you think I am, Abuelita?"

She fixed him with a look that left no room for disagreement. "No está la medianoche todavía. Estas un niño todavía la medianoche. Vete," she said, ushering him once more toward the crowd of small children.

Roman rolled his eyes, but obliged, quickly discovering that if he was the one kicking the ball, he could spare himself the trouble of running around the yard like an over-active puppy. His abuelita quickly caught on, asking him how he was planning to tire himself out enough to sleep that night like that, but Roman only turned and grinned at her, skin almost golden in the sun.

Turned, so that he couldn't see the ball flying back toward him until it had hit him in the back, and he fell forward onto his hands and knees, rolling his eyes at the giggles coming from the direction the ball had been thrown from. He recovered quickly, retrieving the ball and tossing lightly back at the offending children, who smiled innocently at him as though they were anything but tiny devil's spawn.

He was surprised by the lack of cackling coming from his abuelita, and looked, expecting to be met with quiet amusement, but instead was faced with wide eyes and rapid breathing. Right. Projectiles, being hit, falling.

Triggers.

_Shit._

He approached her slowly, keeping his voice as low and calm as he could while making sure she could still hear him over the noise in the backyard. "Abuelita?"

Her eyes darted over to him, but remained unfocused, like she couldn't quite concentrate on him. "Abuelita, it's me. It's Roman."

He hoped she would recognize the name; he really didn't want to have to- "Roman?" She choked out.

Roman breathed a sigh of relief. At least she was present enough for that. "Roman, ¿que haces aquí? Estará..." The words died on her lips as she looked around the backyard. 

She clicked her tongue. "Ah," she said, the consciousness returning to her face.

She smiled at him, but Roman wasn't sure he was buying it. "Abuelita? Are you..." He trailed off, knowing she wasn't quite okay, but that wasn't really exactly what he was asking.

"Estoy bien, Roman. Gracias. Vete a jugar."

Roman wanted to argue, but he knew it wouldn't have gotten him anywhere, and she really did look alright now, so he settled for calling her stubborn and going back to playing with the children, being sure to do his best to keep the ball away from his abuelita this time around. 

By the time he was ready to go to sleep (midnight, as his abuelita had insisted on following tradition), Roman had to admit that he was fairly tired out from the excitement of the day, and he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, nerves be damned. His last conscious thought was that his abuelita had been right after all (even if he would never say it to her face).

Dreaming felt... odd. Sort of like he was himself but without any kind of physical limitations. It's almost freeing, and Roman thinks he can get used to it. He finds himself in something resembling a living room, with a faded green L-shaped couch wrapped around a dark wood coffee table. It sits opposite a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall and though the room is amazing and perfectly comfortable, Roman can't help the twinge of disappointment at the thought of being the first one to turn sixteen, after all the nerves and excitement it just seemed... underwhelming.

He sighed, but figured he may as well make the most of it, sitting on the couch and turning the television on (already playing Mulan, which he thinks is lucky until he remembers that this entire place is literally made for him), but as soon as A Girl Worth Fighting For had begun its opening notes, the air around him seemed to grow tighter for a moment before a boy around his age appeared in front of him with a _pop,_ eyes wide as he stood looking back at Roman.

The first thing Roman noticed were his eyes, a deep, warm brown that reminded Roman of the gingerbread he made with his mom every Christmas. The second thing was the smile that was quickly spreading across his face, and Roman was suddenly aware that he had been staring for well over a minute, taking in those eyes.

He smiled back, albeit a bit sheepishly, and stuck his hand out. "I'm Roman," he offered, still a bit in shock over meeting his soulmate.

The boy let out a laugh - one of the most beautiful sounds Roman thinks he's ever heard - and bypassed the proffered handshake, throwing himself into a hug. Roman makes a sort of strangled sound and the boy pulls back, apologetic.

"Sorry, I probably should have asked; it's just that I'm so _excited,_ my goodness! Oh, I hope you haven't been waiting too long, I just turned sixteen and my mom wanted to make sure I waited until midnight and then I couldn't get to sleep and..." The boy continued, but Roman was a bit too focused on the scent of vanilla when he had briefly been hugging the boy - his _soulmate,_ that lingered even now with how close he still was.

"Sorry," he interrupted eventually, when it became clear that his rambling wouldn't stop until he did so (and by _god_ he could have listened to that voice for forever, but he had some more pressing questions). "I- Did you say you just turned sixteen? Today?"

The boy refocused on him as he seemed to realize that he had been rambling. "Yeah, it was my birthday. You haven't been waiting too long have you?"

Roman snorted. _What were the odds?_ "No, about forty-five minutes."

His face scrunched up in a frankly adorable way before realization dawned, and his smile returned even brighter than before. "Oh wow! That's amazing; this way neither of us had to wait! Gosh, I just can't believe you're my _soulmate!"_

Roman knew the feeling, and he wanted to echo back the sentiment, but what he actually said was, "What was your name?"

_Real romantic, Roman._ But, well, he couldn't really blame himself for being speechless when the boy was smiling like _that._

"Oh! Oh, it's Patton," He stuck out his hand the same way Roman had earlier, and Roman couldn't help himself, not what Patton had already proven himself to be comfortable with the physical contact. He grabbed hold of his hand and gently pulled, grinning when Patton landed in his lap.

"Looks like I'm _falling_ for you already," Patton said, smiling wide and obviously proud of himself.

Roman rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "I don't think it really counts as a fall when I pulled you onto my lap," he pointed out.

"Well, I think you'll find that I'm quite the pull," Patton countered, and Roman couldn't hide the bark of laughter that escaped him.

"Yeah, I think you are," he said, and he knew Patton was blushing from the heat radiating from his face as he burrowed into Roman's neck.

Roman rewound Mulan, playing it from the beginning so that they both could enjoy it. Patton didn't move from his lap, but he did twist a bit so he could see the TV better (and definitely not to hide tears brought on by the scene directly after A Girl Worth Fighting For ended).

Neither of them noticed a presence leaving the dream altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the spanish in this chapter translates:  
> 1\. "Hello, Mijo. Are you excited?"  
> 2\. "Go play with the other children."  
> 3\. "It's not midnight yet. You're a child until midnight. Go."  
> 4\. "Roman, what are you doing here? He'll be..."  
> 5\. "I'm okay, Roman. Thank you. Go play."
> 
> im very sorry if there are any mistakes; i use my limited knowledge of the language and spanishdict to fill in any holes, so if i make a mistake that you catch, PLEASE tell me so i can resolve it.


	3. If We Shadows Have Offended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sure anyone who's read Wear my Pajamas and Walk in my Dreams remembers... Alastor. here he is. 
> 
> warnings for this chapter: panic attack, abusive behavior

It had been three months, and Virgil had found himself growing quite accustomed to this dream world, even if it was a bit lonely. That was fine; Virgil was used to being alone, he _liked_ being alone, even if there was a longing in his chest that grew with each passing day.

The first thing he took advantage of was the television; a luxury he didn't have in his own home, after Ellie had sold it to help pay for their mom's medication, but after so long without one, he quickly found himself getting bored; the movies and shows becoming monotonous. A quick google search told him that he could manipulate the dream in any way he wanted, so he had taken to conjuring up puzzles and rubix cubes. He had gotten quite good at them.

Surprise isn't exactly what he felt when the first boy showed up in his dreams; he knew it was bound to happen eventually. No, he felt something more akin to disappointment. There was no denying it anymore; no hoping he wouldn't have to see this day.

Virgil Torres had a soulmate, which was the worst news he had gotten in five years.

He panicked a bit when the boy had appeared, and his body turned invisible almost of its own volition. _Convenient,_ he thought to himself as he turned his attention back to the boy, studying him. Virgil noticed his build, all toned muscles and silent power, and Virgil's thoughts were a contradiction of _hot_ and _dangerous._ He's not sure which one is more alarming.

The boy seemed to be pouting a bit as he looked around, and Virgil thinks he would have found it endearing in any other circumstance. After a moment, the boy seemed to be resigned, if not a bit let down, to being alone, and he slumped onto the couch, turning on the TV to play Mulan.

Virgil almost left; _should have_ left, but he knew he needed the sleep, and, well, he did like Mulan. So he took a seat in the chair, careful not to make any noises that would alert the other boy to his presence.

It didn't seem to matter, as he quickly became too preoccupied with singing along with the movie as loudly as was possible, and Virgil was pretty sure he could scream and still not be heard over the other's voice. The opening notes started to play for yet another song, and Virgil was almost amused by the excitement on his face as he took a breath to begin singing - before he was stopped by the new arrival that popped up in front of him.

Surprise is precisely what Virgil felt this time; surprise and - relief? Two. He had two soulmates.

Which meant he had as good as no soulmates.

They could be together; could have each other, and neither of them had to put up with him. This was what the universe had planned for him, he realized. He didn't want a soulmate, and no soulmate would want him, so the universe had met him in the middle, had put him on the sidelines of a love story he never had to engage in.

Watching the first stare in awe at the second, Virgil decided that he didn't altogether mind having soulmates after all.

"I'm Roman," the first offered after a moment, voice a bit hoarse, and Virgil found himself feeling a strange sort of empathy at that as he took in the newcomer's shining smile.

The smiling boy glanced down at Roman's outstretched hand, and Virgil could definitely see a mischievous glint in his eye before he launched himself forward. Virgil had just enough time to tense up at that before he realized that it was a _hug._ He thinks Roman realized at the same time as well, because he could see the shock evident on his face, and he made a sound almost like he was choking.

"Sorry," the boy said, pulling away. "I probably should have asked; it's just that I'm so _excited,_ my goodness! Oh, I hope you haven't been waiting too long..." He continued rambling, but Virgil was beginning to feel the guilt pool in his stomach. What if this second soulmate had never shown up? How long was Virgil going to make him wait for something that would never happen?

It didn't matter, he reminded himself; it would have been better that the alternative. For both of them.

"Sorry," Roman said after a moment, interrupting both the boy's rambling and Virgil's spiraling. "I- Did you say you just turned sixteen? Today?"

That was a bit odd, now that he thought about it, but he didn't think that it was completely unprecedented; just a nice little coincidence. Convenient, especially in that it gave the guilt gnawing at his stomach something to use as an excuse. It didn't matter that he was never going to show himself because Roman's soulmate had gotten there first, and he hadn't had to wait even one night.

"Yeah, it was my birthday. You haven't been waiting too long have you?"

"No, about forty-five minutes." There was definite amusement in his voice as the newcomer's eyes widened, taken aback and obviously confused.

Virgil thinks he can see the exact moment that it clicks, and that smile comes back. "Oh wow! That's amazing; this way neither of us had to wait," He said, echoing Virgil's exact thoughts. "Gosh, I just can't believe you're my _soulmate!"_

The knowledge that he'd be saying the exact same thing but with a very different inflection were it Virgil he met causes his heart to sink.

"What was your name?" Roman asked, and come to think of it, Virgil couldn't recall either.

"Oh! Oh, it's Patton," he said, mirroring Roman's earlier offer of a handshake with one of his own. He was bouncing on his heels, and Virgil knows it should have been endearing, but all he can really think about is the sour taste in his mouth as he realizes that that enthusiasm is not meant for him, and it never was.

Roman grabs hold of his hand, and Virgil knows what he going to do before it happens, but he still tenses a bit as Roman pulls Patton onto his lap.

"Looks like I'm _falling_ for you already," he quips and there's something in the way he looks at Roman, not love, not even close yet, but _something_ that screams that he's intruding on an intimate moment.

"I don't think it really counts as a fall when I pulled you into my lap."

_This isn't for you,_ his mind supplies.

"Well, I think you'll find that I'm quite the pull."

_It isn't for you._

"Yeah, I think you are."

_Not for you!_

Virgil wakes himself with a gasp, feeling like his lungs are filled with cotton. He knows he needs to breathe, but he can't quite figure out how; his chest isn't working the way its supposed, and oh god, is he _crying?_ There's definitely tears running down his cheeks, and Virgil can't figure out when they got there, but that's not important because he can't _breathe._

His boyfriend, his mind supplies. His boyfriend, who could help him, could tell him how to breathe. He didn't have a choice; Ellie was working a graveyard shift and he knew his mother wouldn't be able to help. But Alastor ran so hot and cold, and Virgil wasn't sure he could take it if he was in a bad mood.

_Doesn't matter; I can't breathe._

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, the charger ripping from the port as he pulled it closer to him. His hands were shaking bad enough that it took a few tries, but he was able to find Alastor's contact and press the call button, anxiety growing in his chest as he listened to the dial tone.

Alastor picked up after the fourth ring, right as Virgil was about to hang up, and he would have laughed in relief if he had any air in his lungs to do so.

"Virgil?" His voice was rough with sleep, and Virgil felt guilty all over again for waking him up.

He could only let out a shaky sob as an answer.

"Virgil?" Alastor asked again, much more awake this time. "Are you alright? Where are you?"

Virgil tried to get the words out, really he did, but his voice box didn't seem to be cooperating and he thinks the edges of his vision are starting to go black.

Alastor lets out an exasperated sigh, and Virgil flinches involuntarily, which he _hates_ himself for. He knows he's hard to deal with and his boyfriend is only trying to _help._

"Virgil, you need to answer me. Are you home?"

Virgil focuses on pushing the words out. "Y-yes," he finally manages, and he already feels beyond exhausted.

"Alright." There's movement on the other end of the call. "I'm on my way, but you need to _breathe."_

And Virgil wants to cry because he's _trying,_ can't Alastor _see_ that?

" _Out,_ Virgil, breathe out." That seems counterproductive to Virgil; he's trying to get air in, not out, but he trusts Alastor. He lets out a breath. "Alright, now in for four, hold for five, and out for seven. You know how to do this."

Virgil goes through the exercise a couple of times, finding relief in his vision slowly coming back to him. His chest feels sore and his whole body is tired, but at least he can finally _breathe._

Alastor keeps leading him through the exercises until he's standing at Virgil's front door, and it takes all of his energy to walk the distance and open it. As soon as the door is open, Alastor pulls him into a hug, and Virgil tenses but doesn't really have the energy to push him away. It's another minute before Virgil's able to move onto the couch, Alastor sitting next to him.

The arm around his shoulders is making his skin crawl, and he feels like crying all over again. "Uh, can you- can you move your arm? I don't want to be touched," he asks, knowing he's being impolite but caring more about the sick feeling in his stomach.

Alastor's eyebrows raise. "Fine." He moves the arm, but stands, walking back toward the door, and everything has happened so fast that Virgil is left reeling.

"Wait, I-" Alastor turns back to him, eyes narrowed.

"You've made it clear you don't want me here, so I'll go." And Virgil nearly whines because that's not what he _meant,_ but he doesn't want to upset his boyfriend.

"No, no, you can- stay? Please? You- come sit with me again?" And he really does mean that part, because the sick feeling from being touched is bad, but not nearly as bad as the sick feeling from being left alone; being _abandoned._

His boyfriend smiles, kindness and warmth once again, and returns to his previous spot, and Virgil pushes the feeling of _wrongness_ from his mind. He's only trying to help.

"What happened?" 

Virgil swallows around the heart in his throat. "My-My soulmate. _Soulmates._ I saw them."

Alastor says nothing, muscle working in his jaw.

"Alastor, they're _lovely,_ and I'd never be good enough for them, even if they would ever want me, and I _know_ that doesn't matter because I love you, but why would the universe do that? Why would it give me these people when I can't _be_ with them?" Virgil looked over at Alastor, noticing that his face had become drawn. The arm around his shoulders tightened.

"I-"

"So now you're going to run off with your little soulmates?"

"No! I'm-"

"More interested in them then me? Because that's fairly obvious! Honestly, Verge, if I knew you were going to gush about the men of your dreams I wouldn't have come!" His voice had risen, and he stood suddenly. Virgil flinched. "Oh, and now you're _scared_ of me? You meet some men who will never want you and suddenly I'm the worst thing ever? I'll give you something to be scared of," he promised, looking for all the world like he would make good on that promise.

Virgil had to calm him down, and he had to do it _now._

"No! A, you know I love you! I just- got overwhelmed. They're... not that great, just. It's a shock. But I love _you._ I promise."

Alastor looked at him, still simmering, but seemed to calm down slightly. "I know." He kissed the top of Virgil's head and sat back down.

"You know I'd never hurt you. But you can't get me that upset."

Virgil shrunk into himself, familiar guilt pooling in his stomach.

"I know."


	4. Unearned Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry its a bit short, but if i dont cut this off now, I'll be up until like four trying to finish this chapter, so here you go.
> 
> warning for this chapter:  
> transphobia, racism, misgendering  
> (its actually not that dark its a p upbeat chapter i promise)

Patton groaned, rolling over and shielding his eyes from the sun streaming in through his open window. He made a mental note to remember to close that before going to sleep, as it seemed his bedroom was perfectly situated to bear the brunt of the early morning rays of sun, and nearly fell off the bed as he reached over to silence the alarm on his phone.

Last night with Roman - with his _soulmate -_ had been fun, but it hadn't eased his nerves about his first day at Laudemore High. It seemed that no matter how many times he had to change schools, it never got any easier; that first day never any less daunting. 

After slowly making his way out of the bed, he looks at the outfit he had lain out the night before, a white button up and pale blue circle skirt, but hesitates. It may have been fine at his last school, but that was significantly further north than Florida, and he really would rather make a proper first impression. He pretended it consider it for a moment longer, but he knew already that he had made up his mind. He threw the skirt back in his wardrobe.

Digging around his closet, he pulled out a pair of jeans instead, and threw them on with the button up. Not exactly what he had wanted to wear, but it would do.

He looked at the time on his phone, startling when he saw that he only had ten minutes to get to the bus stop. He must have taken longer choosing his outfit than he had thought. He brushed his teeth as quickly as possible and threw his backpack over a shoulder, rushing down the stairs and out the door with a half-yelled, "goodbye," to his mom, who was pouring over paperwork at the kitchen table.

As he ran toward the bus stop, he could see the bus just pulling in, and he picked up the pace a bit, waving so the driver would know he was trying to get on. Breathing a sigh of relief, he made it on to the bus and looked around, dismayed to see that none of the seats were empty.

He walked up to a boy sitting in one of the front seats, staring out of the window and biting his thumbnail as his leg bounced rapidly. "Hey, do you think I could sit here?" He asked, gesturing to the part of the seat currently taken up by a yellow backpack.

The boy looked over, his eyes widening, and the silence stretched for just a moment too long, settling in a familiar discomfort in Patton's chest. Just as he was about to give it up and look for another seat, the boy seemed to snap out of it.

"Yeah, uh, yes, you can- sorry." He quickly moved the backpack to the floor between his legs, and Patton noticed that the bouncing had picked up speed. He didn't comment on it.

He sat down, the silence feeling distinctly uncomfortable, and idly rolled a dread between his fingers. "Sorry," the boy said suddenly after a few minutes of tense silence, "I just don't usually sit with anyone and no one sits with me it just surprised me; that's all." The words came out in a rush and Patton was surprised by how high pitched the voice was, and it occurred to him that that could be part of the discomfort.

He needed to stop assuming the worst in people, Patton scolded himself.

"It's alright. I'm Patton," he said, extending a hand.

The boy - person? - looked down at it for a moment, and Patton thought he could see the faintest hint of a blush, before shaking his hand. 

"Virgil."

Patton was decidedly _not_ having a good day. He had wound up late to his first class after wandering the halls for fifteen minutes trying to find the room number, and he had seen the older white man who taught it take one look at him arriving late and mentally file him away as a trouble maker - which really wasn't _fair;_ it was his first day how was he expected to know where all of the classrooms were? And the class was Geometry, which Patton wasn't great at to begin with, and it seemed his old class was behind this one in the lesson plan.

He had stayed after class to get extra study materials (though his teacher had very obviously thought it a waste of his time), and ended up late to his _next_ class as well. Add that to the general unease of starting a new school in the middle of the year, and it all came out to a terrible first day.

He got to his second class - Art - out of breath, and stumbled into the room just as the teacher was starting instructions. All eyes turned to look at him.

Patton felt his face heat up and mumbled a, "sorry," to the teacher, but she just smiled at him.

"It's alright. You must be my new student, Patton, is it?" He nodded, silently thanking anyone who might be listening that this teacher at least seemed more understanding.

"Perfect! We were just about to start," she said, gesturing to the white board. He could see that the words "still life" were written in neat handwriting. "There's an empty seat next to Virgin- next to Virgil." There were a few snickers around the classroom, but he elected to ignore them.

She pointed to an empty seat near the back of the classroom, and Patton saw the boy from the bus in the seat directly next to it. His eyes were wide, and Patton noticed that one was a slightly darker green than the other. Smiling at him, Patton was relieved to see a face that was, if not exactly friendly yet, at least familiar. Virgil smiled hesitantly back.

Making his way along the side of the room toward the back, Patton was stopped by a girl before he could reach his seat.

"Hey," she said lowly, "Patton."

He turned to her.

"You can sit next to me if you want. It'll probably be more comfortable than sitting next to her." Patton felt his blood run cold, but tried his best to keep it off of his face. Anger wouldn't do anyone any good, least of all him. He looked over to where Virgil had seemingly curled in on himself, just barely within earshot before turning back to her with as neutral a face as he could muster.

"I think I'm alright sitting by Virgil, thanks," He turned to leave, but she grabbed his wrist and the anger flared up again. What gave her the right?

"But she's-"

"I'm going to sit by Virgil. I'm sure he'll make a great neighbor." His voice came out tighter than he was expecting, but it shocked her enough that he was able to pull away, not looking back as he slid into his seat.

He offered a smile, and Virgil's lips just barely twitched upward in response. Patton noticed his nails digging into the sleeve of his jacket on the other arm, and winced a bit, but didn't really know what to say.

There was a moment of silence between the two of them, the only sound the teacher's lecturing about still life paintings, which Patton felt comfortable tuning out. How much could there really be to a still life anyway?

"Sorry," Virgil mumbled once the lecturing had stopped momentarily and quiet chatter filled the room instead, "about her, I mean. Are you okay?"

Patton pursed his lips. "It's not your fault, Virgil. You didn't do anything."

He scoffed. "Yeah, I guess." 

"I'm serious." Virgil finally met his eyes, and his hand fell away from his arm in defeat. "You didn't do anything. It's not your fault some people suck."

Virgil smiled at him again, but a real smile this time, and Patton is overjoyed to see the edges of his eyes crinkle up.

"Thanks, Pat."

"No problem, Kiddo! Now, what are we supposed to be doing?"

Virgil laughed lightly, shaking his head, but explained the assignment quickly and then got to work on his own, biting at his lips as he glanced quickly between the canvas and the glass bottle that had been set up at the front of the classroom.

So maybe it was't _such_ a terrible first day.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, if you liked it, leave a kudos, and comments are absolutely always appreciated. I'm probably going to take down the old fic soon, but I am leaving it up for right this second. also I don't think I will ever write a fic where Roman doesn't speak Spanish bc while ik most of the fandom has given up on this hc by now, you can honestly pry Latino!Princey from my cold, dead hands.


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